Demon-spawn: The Precursor To Oblivion
by H. J. Buck
Summary: Arvous Matoc has always tried to ignore the realization that his father was a murderer. But when he is attacked by a dark brotherhood assassin, contracted by the lone surviver of his father's attacks, Arvous seeks to find out who his father was, and why he did what he did.


**Prologue**

The winds blew throughout the fields of western Cyrodil. It was autumn, and the leaves had begun to fall. They tossed and turned in the tide of the wind, and drifted lightly to the ground. The air was pure and thin, the sky was overcast yet beautiful. Auburn leaves glowed in the faint sunshine of the evening. At the feet of a lone tree rested a young Dark elf. His piercing crimson eyes stared into an unknown horizon, watching; waiting.

The Dark Elves were the people of Morrowind. They called themselves Dunmer, they were known for the harsh attitude and talent for combat and magic. This particular Dunmer was a kind hearted soul called Arvous. A was a handsome young man, with fine features more like that of a Breton, than a Dark Elf. His dark hair was bound on top, and his face was unshaven. He was a man of seemingly twenty-five, but Arvous's age was more like two hundred and twenty five. His elven heritage blessed him, if not cursed him, with long life. He had seen kingdoms rise and fall, through his eyes so many events had unfolded. He watched as Uriel Septim IIV was crowned emperor, now sixty-five years later, that youthful ruler was eighty seven. Soon Uriel would die, one of his sons would take up the crown, and Arvous would watch it all unfold, again and again. Time passed like a thief in the night, none realizing what had happened until it is done.

To say that Arvous had had an easy life would be a fallacy; his mother had died when he was young, and his father was now dead as well. There was no easy way to describe his father, because there is no easy way to describe a murderer. Eight people died by his hand, and in an attempt to kill a ninth, the Imperial Legion arrested, and later executed him. He gave no reason, no motive. Arvous never understood why his father would do such things. Everyone had always told him, "Your father was stricken with grief at the loss of your mother, I'm so sorry." Lies; not that his father was stricken with grief, but that people pitied him. No compassion was shown to Arvous when his father was arrested; in fact he was chastised because of it. It was as if Arvous had somehow inherited his father's sins. Everyone then resented his existence.

Everybody but one; His uncle Garous had left Morrowind and come to Cyrodil to raise him. Garous was a well-known hero of the Dunmer people, he was called "The Nerevarine,"arrested in an attempt to protect his older brother; Garous also was imprisoned in the Imperial City. But the Emperor believed that he was this "Nerevarine," and sent him to Morrowind to fulfill his destiny. But that is another story, for another time.

They lived a happy life together, while not _easy_ it was a joyous upbringing. Garous trained him in the ways of the sword and bow, and he also taught Arvous a few spells, but Arvous usually chose his sword over his will. They had trekked across the entire realm of Cyrodil, from Bruma to Bravil. Because of this, Arvous knew the settlements and wilds of Cyrodil like a child knows his mother's face.

The light breeze shifted to an icy gust of wind, Arvous wrapped his arms about him in a vain attempt to keep himself warm. A chill ran down his spine, but at last the clouds lifted and the sun's golden rays warmed him. A distant thunder rose in the east. No, not thunder: horses.

Arvous sighed, "Finally, they come." He said to himself. The neighing of horses and the cries of men sang throughout the fields, birds flew from their perch in order to get to safety. Arvous stood from his place, and drew his Uncle's sword. It was called Jinksword, Arvous knew not where the name came from, but knowing his Uncle, he figured that Garous had just made it up. It was a Dwemer blade, no doubt found on one of Garous' exploits in Dwemer ruins.

Soon, the clanking of armor rang across the field; the sounds were growing nearer. Arvous prayed a silent prayer to Akatosh. It was rare that a Dunmer would pray to one of the Nine, as the Dunmer usually worshiped demons known as Daedra. A knot tied in his throat, he was so nervous. He had waited for this hour for a long time, and now that it was here he was afraid. What this hour was, only Arvous and his pursuer knew.

At last, the pursuers came into sight; The Imperial legion. About fifteen men rode on horse-back across the leaf-covered fields. Their gray armor shined in the golden sunlight. They were the soldiers of The Empire; the governing force of Tamriel. They were the law keepers, but in an age when law keepers can no longer keep the law, who then is to protect?

The wind began to pick up speed, lifting waves of leaves per gust. Arvous closed his eyes as the enemy finally came to a halt. All members of the company had their swords drawn; Arvous kneeled down and laid his blade on the ground. A man in silver armor, obviously the captain, dismounted his horse and walked forward. The Dunmer looked up, into the man's ugly, battle scared face. With great force, the man aimed his blade at Arvous' throat. While this would scare most men into submission, Arvous remained unbroken.

"Arvous Matoc." The man said in an unforgiving, pipe-smoke voice.

"Yes, that is my name." Arvous said, betraying no emotion. Discretely, he held his fists tight, and gritted his teeth at this man. He had only known him for a few moments, but already he knew that he would not be shown mercy.

Two of the troops, dismounted their horses and walked to Arvous, whom remained silent. One of them, a brute of a man, grabbed Arvous' head and slammed Arvous' knees to the ground. The brute's finger-nails dug into Arvous' scull, and dark blood trickled down his brow. The other soldier then clapped iron cuffs around Arvous' wrists. Arvous squinted in pain as the iron scrapped away his skin.

"What kinda name s'that?" one of the soldiers said.

"Immigration, my name got mixed up with a Breton's."

"Enough!" The leader said, "You have violated the laws of the Empire, by committing the murder of Valus Selvius. You will be given no trial at an imperial court, and are scheduled to life of imprisonment in the Imperial City. The Nine divines have mercy on your accursed, black soul."

Arvous only closed his eyes in response, and said "Finally, it is finishe-" with a loud crack, he was struck in the face by the hilt of the captain's sword. He felt his nose snap, and the warm blood shot from his mutilated nostrils. Arvous spat out blood from his mouth, "Will that be all?" he said with all the strength he could muster. Enraged, the Captain kicked Arvous in the gut with all his might. Arvous coughed, and spattered up blood from his mouth.

The captain grabbed Arvous by the hair, and got close in his face. Arvous could smell the skooma on his breath; no doubt the man had taken a drink of the illegal drug before attending to his duties. "You're lucky your Uncle's the Nerevarine, otherwise I'd kill you right here, demon-spawn." The captain shoved Arvous' head down mercilessly. Arvous wanted so much to fight back, but out of common sense he did not. The captain stood up, and shouted to his men. "Take him to the City!"

Arvous sighed, and looked down. "My debt is paid," he said to himself, only he knowing what the phrase meant. The sun disappeared behind the Jerall Mountains. As night finally came, Arvous Matoc became a prisoner.

**Well, there you go! I hope that you have enjoyed the prologue, and I really hope that you are excited to see more of Arvous Matoc. This is my first fanfiction, so some constructive criticism would be great! I've edited a bit since I first published it, but I'm not sure when I'll finish it. Due to me working my tail off on my own book. Enjoy the story? Let me know! Reviews are MORE than welcome. Thank you for reading!** -H. J. Buck


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